Driven
by Zu
Summary: Schuldig offers Aya a ride, and Aya can't resist. What is it about that telepath, anyway? Aya/Schuldig *I fixed the paragraphing!!! It's even MORE readable now! *


Aya was lying in the grass, the dampness of the earth coursing upwards through his clothes and seeping into his flesh. He knew he should be cold, but instead felt heat being carried through his veins, subtle and complete like a contagion. He felt the oppressive weight of the man on top of him, the warm breath coming in short rasps, the sharp hip bone driving into his thigh. His ribs were constrained by the pressure, and his heart beat its rapid pulse with undisguised trepidation. He felt something crawl, an insect perhaps, over the hand holding down his wrists first, and then into the shallow cup of his left palm. He clenched his fist. PHow had it come to this? He remembered that he had been walking towards the flower shop, his eyes lowered in protest of the sun's late-afternoon glare. Yohji had declined to come on the excursion, volounteering to stay and tend to the few customers who would straggle in during the last scraps of the shopping day. A few meters ahead Omi and Ken were walking along with a grocery bag between them, one handle each. They prattled on endlessly, stopping only for breath, and the sound of Omi's not-quite mature voice made Aya smile fleetingly. Not quite a man, but a killer all the same. He lifted his eyes to them, letting the sun etch their silhouettes into his retinas. When he blinked, he could see them there, an image in negative.   
Suddenly, a car pulled up unobtrusively alongside him. His footsteps stopped while Omi and Ken's continued on. Their voices trailed away with distance. In the car, Schuldich leaned casually from the driver's seat to the passenger's window. One arm rested along the window frame, while the other stretched back to the steering wheel. His shirt was creased by the resistance of his seatbelt and hinted at the muscles underneath, and his hair hung loose. His eyes were on Aya's, steady and hard. Aya looked back at him, gaze meeting gaze with cool contempt. Schuldich thought about Aya's pale skin; whether he had any scars from their previous meetings. Aya thought that the tint of Schuldich's hair reminded him of a tigerlily he had sold earlier, to a girl with braces and beautiful gray eyes.   
"Want to go for a ride?" Schuldich said it so casually, the ease of the words bordering on impudence. One would almost think that their acquaintance consisted of trivial conversations shared over tea rather than blood-soaked battles. One would never dream that they shared a hatred so deep, so powerful that it threatened to consume them both. Aya stared, stock-still except for the almost imperceptible crick of an eyebrow. Lately, he had lost interest in almost everything but his sister. He tried to feel nothing, to keep himself a blank slate. In his line of work, that was the only way to hold onto sanity. Yet the danger, the enigma of this man made him feel . . . something. Like a moment in time was aproaching, like something decisive and inescapable was rushing up to him and hinged on this moment. He wondered what it was, and hesitated a brief moment. Then he stepped into the car.   
Aya shifted uncomfortably, and the pressure on his wrists increased. The free hand of his opponent began trailing a lazy, pre-meditated path along the line of his jaw. Slender tabbacco-stained fingers came to his lips, and he bit down hard. Crimson like rust flowed into his mouth, running over his tongue and pooling in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, feeling unusually aware of the movement of his adam'e apple and the line of his neck. He looked up to see the man put his injured finger to his own lips, and trace them in red. Like the lips of a beautiful woman, like the lips of a whore. Aya knew neither, but felt something unfamiliar. Longing.  
The ache was like murder.   
The city shrank behind them and they drove, everything familiar being obscurred by the distance. They had spoken very little so far: Schuldich kept his eyes on the road, and Aya kept his on his hands in his lap. He felt something strange, for a moment, as if his mind had flinched.  
What are you looking for,Schuldich? * PHe heard a breathy laugh. * Nothing - sorry. It's a force of habit. *   
Sorry. Hearing an apology from a member of Schwartz was like hearing the Yohji say he had given up women. He turned his head, and studied Schildich's profile: something he had never previously done. Aya could admit to himself when someone was attractive, although he never acted on it; he had to admit that the German was an attractive man. The prominent line of his jaw, the almost invisible wrinkles on the sides of his mouth which enfolded something unspeakable and cruel. Aya was suddenly painfully aware of his own body, of his own thoughts, and turned away. Schuldich, for only the second time Aya had ever heard, laughed without malice.  
"You don't need to worry - for today, your thoughts are your own. Consider it my day off." He smiled, and Aya noticed the absurdity of the moment. Looking at that smile, he felt a twinge of something, very vague and fleeting, and smiled in turn.   
The drive wore on. Aya began to feel the distance like the unfurling of a rope which stretched between him and the rest of Weiss. The rope was taunt, getting tigther with every minute, every second, evey inch. He tried not to think. For some reason, in that car, there was no need to speak, no need for questions. It was something subliminal, and they both understood. Shuldich offered Aya a cigarette, and he accepted. He rolled the thin tabbacco stick between his fingers before putting it to his lips to accept the offered light. The tip burned, orange bright and hot, and Aya thought of Schuldich's hair. He had never smoked before, and choked with his first inhilation. They both laughed, and with the warm familiar smell Aya thought of Yohji.   
  
Schuldich stopped the car, finally, at a small and obscure gas station. They were the only customers, had been all day, and as Schuldich suffered the pleasantries of the attendant, Aya left his seat and wandered off into the woods. He had a vague impression that Schudich might kill the attendant if he insisted on talking, but he didn't really care. He didn't know where he was going, hadn't told Schuldich where he was headed. He knew he would be found if someone wanted to find him. The sun had almost set, and the trees cast long shadows across his body as Aya ducked, absent-mindedly, through the trees and shrubs. A spider's web clung to his face, delicate and fine, and he brushed it away with distaste. Looking up through the trees, Aya remarked to himself how the weather had changed during the drive. Thick nimbostratus stalked the horizon. The promise of rain.   
Schuldich came upon him in a small clearing, hedged in on every side by conifers and dense underbrush. He looked at Aya, half-reclining in the dim light, and walked to him. He kneeled before him, his posture deceptively submissive, and put his hands on Aya's shoulders. Aya's hands remained at his own sides, palms up. He fixed his eyes on Schuldich. Slowly, painfully slowly, they both lowered to the ground.   
"I don't know why I picked you up today." Schuldich answered the question Aya had never asked. "Perhaps I planned on killing you - I don't know. I had never looked at you twice before, except to find a good place to stick a knife." He laughed at himself, and ran a hand through the red hair. He felt how fine it was. It mingled with his own cascading locks in the grass, and he looked at it: like blood and fire.   
Aya began to lift himself, and Schuldich caught his wrists with the speed and precision of a seasoned expert. He pinned them to the earth above Aya's head, using the force of his own weight to hold him down. There was no need - there was no resistance. Aya keep his violet gaze on Schuldich, persistent and steady. This is what he had felt - that intangible something when Schuldich had pulled up beside him in his car. This was the moment they both expected, drove towards, yearned for. They were brought together by something, so vague yet so pressing, a force that neither could resist. Incalcuable hate, loss, pain had culminated in this moment, and they stared at eachother in the grass. They were searching for the reason to go on doing what they did, the reason to keep living and destroying life, the reason to feel anger and fear. They both knew that their actions mattered little; that they next time they met there was the possibility that one of them would not survive. At least they had this moment where there were no actions, no consequences. It was beneath love, beyond lust. It was a searching, imploring, desperate affirmation of life. Neither knew, nor understood what was holding them together there in the rushing wind and the oncoming dark. Yet they both accepted.   
  
Aya stared at the blood-red lips, black as pitch in the darkness, and could feel a boiling deep within himself. Schuldich lowered his head, kissing the curve of Aya's jaw, his neck. Aya felt the warm tongue, the hot breath. Teeth pulled at his earlobe, and the pain was exquisite. His breath came short, and through his sweater he could feel another heart beating a rapid rhythm timed with his own. He had never wanted before as he wanted now. He could hear rain beginning to fall, light and thin as a whisper. Schuldich lifted his head, was about to speak again when Aya kissed him, full on the lips and deep. Schuldich caught his breath with surprise, and Aya could feel him smile. His own clothes, drenched with rain, had never felt so heavy. He longed to free his hands. Schuldich slid his free hand down, between them both and beneath Aya's shirt. His fingers traced over the ripples of developed muscle, along the curves where bone meets flesh. He pressed himself harder against Aya, as though the pressure of his body could push them into the very earth. Unlike Aya, he was experienced; still, he ached for the first time in his life. He felt greed. He felt hunger.   
Releasing the captive wrists, Schuldich removed Aya's shirt with an almost frantic zeal. He began kissing the porcelain skin as though it would disappear, as though the world would end. He felt hands on his own skin, tearing at his clothes. In an instant he could feel the rain on his back, so cold against his burning flesh. Suddenly, it was Schuldich being pressed into the grass, pinned by an extraordinary strength seldom revealed. Layer by agonizing layer, clothes were removed. Schuldich felt lips on his abdomen, trailing along his belly, his hip bone . . . He arched his back, and tugged at the crimson hair. He let a sound escape his parted lips, barely audible and drowned by the rain. The night was so long, stretching out before them like an abyss....   
Need meets need.   
Flesh meets flesh.   
The rain poured.   
The two men lay in the grass, side by side and swathed in darkness and sweat. The urgency, the desperation had left them both: now they felt only a sort of calm, the weary pleasure that comes from sated desire. Aya turned his head to see Schuldich's profile, dark and obscured. Occaisionaly he saw a bright flame lifted by heavy hands, and could hear tabbacco burning. The flame was reflected in darkened eyes and a sweet smell wafted on the breeze, mingled with the heady scent of crushed grass and recent rain. Aya knew that soon they would put back on their clother, their defences, and return to such separate lives. There were excuses to be made there, lies to be concocted. He sighed inaudibly.   
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Schuldich bolted up. He pulled a small knife fron the inside of his own discarded boot and, with lightning quickness, slashed a neat gash through Aya's right palm. Before the other had time to react, he cut, quickly and without pain, through his own flesh. He pressed his palm to Aya's, warm blood flowing into each. It poured into the grass, leaving a dark stain. Aya could feel his blood, the wetness of his hand, but felt no pain. Above him, leaning, was Schuldig, damp hair cascading in the dim light.   
Aya heard the smile on his breath. "Why?" He found the question in Aya's mind. "In case I kill you next time."   
Aya smiled. "Did I ever tell you you were a hopeless romantic?"   
A joke. Schuldich rolled off of Aya, still holding him with his opposite hand. It was a sound Aya had never heard before, that pure laughter so terrifying and deep. He looked up at the stars flirting between patches of clouds. 


End file.
